Sunday, September 21, 2008
Just Blanks
My friend Chuck opened the cardboard box and showed me his starter’s gun. “Just hold it in the air away from your ear when you fire.” When he sensed my reluctance, he grinned and added, “They’re just blanks!”
A few days before, Chuck had offered the use of his gun to start the YMCA race that I had organized. It had sounded like a good idea, but now looking at the gun, I had second thoughts. It was really quite small, but somehow quite menacing.
Chuck couldn’t start the race himself because he needed to be in place as a traffic guard a half mile into the race route. I held the weapon gingerly, and shivered. I was not going to shoot that thing.
I abdicated my job to another race volunteer, Susan, who said, “Oh sure! No problem!” At the start line, I yelled in the megaphone, “Runners, take your marks! Get set!” And Susan fired.
With squeals and shouts, the runners took off. I carefully returned the gun to its box and stowed it out of sight and reach of mischievous hands.
Later I related my gun story to my son. This son has taken quite an interest in guns, despite never having any exposure to them as a child. “You’ve never shot a gun, Mom?” He seemed incredulous, although I don’t know why. “I’ll help you do it. Guns are perfectly safe when you handle them properly.”
I doubt I’ll ever take a shot. Shooting guns, even shooting blanks, kind of scares me.
A few days before, Chuck had offered the use of his gun to start the YMCA race that I had organized. It had sounded like a good idea, but now looking at the gun, I had second thoughts. It was really quite small, but somehow quite menacing.
Chuck couldn’t start the race himself because he needed to be in place as a traffic guard a half mile into the race route. I held the weapon gingerly, and shivered. I was not going to shoot that thing.
I abdicated my job to another race volunteer, Susan, who said, “Oh sure! No problem!” At the start line, I yelled in the megaphone, “Runners, take your marks! Get set!” And Susan fired.
With squeals and shouts, the runners took off. I carefully returned the gun to its box and stowed it out of sight and reach of mischievous hands.
Later I related my gun story to my son. This son has taken quite an interest in guns, despite never having any exposure to them as a child. “You’ve never shot a gun, Mom?” He seemed incredulous, although I don’t know why. “I’ll help you do it. Guns are perfectly safe when you handle them properly.”
I doubt I’ll ever take a shot. Shooting guns, even shooting blanks, kind of scares me.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Countdown
I have vowed that this marathon, number 9, will be my last. Of course I've said that before. Tonight I looked at the marathon website and found the entrants' list. I am the only person entered from my state, and only a handful of participants reside west of the Mississippi. There are only five women in my age category. This is a very small marathon, but I hope to use it to finish my career in style.
Six weeks to go, and my piriformis syndrome is still a continual pain. After posting about my condition on the marathon message board, I received punny comments from fellow runners about hitting rock "bottom" and advice to put it "behind" me. To them I answer, "Tush-e!"
And I keep running.
Six weeks to go, and my piriformis syndrome is still a continual pain. After posting about my condition on the marathon message board, I received punny comments from fellow runners about hitting rock "bottom" and advice to put it "behind" me. To them I answer, "Tush-e!"
And I keep running.
